


Funny You Should Call

by Prozzy



Category: Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: AU Plot, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 07:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prozzy/pseuds/Prozzy
Summary: AU fic where John survived the gunfight at the Fish Market. What happens the night of the incident when he and Clarice both need some comforting.





	Funny You Should Call

Half empty bottle of whiskey in hand, she paces around the duplex trying to forget the events of the day. The smell of blood still fills her nostrils and mouth. When she moves her fingers she can still feel her gun against her palm. Can still hear the sound of Evelda's orphaned child screaming at her as she washes it off.

She fights back a shiver and instead takes another sip from her bottle. The burn doesn't feel as bad as it did when she started the bottle, but it's enough for her purposes. The warmth of alcohol has her head spinning. She's on that line of drunk and tipsy that she's so often straddled, and all of her wants to go falling into it. 

Thankfully Mapp isn't home tonight, so she has the entirety of the duplex to wander through. She's careful to leave everything where it is as she walks through her friend's side. The sense of order helps with the slight sense of confusion that's been following her since the gunfight at the Fish Market. She'd seen John go down. He was fine, but she remembered the panic that had flooded through her system seeing it.

Bringing the bottle back to her lips, she tries not to think about the tears she'd been choking back. Tries instead to think about the smile he'd given her when the paramedics were done with him. How he'd looked at her and made that joke about how he was harder to kill than a cockroach. At the time she could do nothing but stand and stare, the panic eventually giving way to confusion.

Never before had she stopped to think about what might happen if he went down. Nor had she thought about just what she would do if she lost the man. For so many years he'd been a pillar of support, a friend when she needed it most. He wanted more. She knows he does, he had after all asked her about it the one time.

Why had she said no again? 

God, she can't remember anymore. And now all she wants is to go back and take it back. Or does she? Perhaps it's just the alcohol and the panic from earlier starting to get to her thoughts. After all, John's nice. He obviously cares a lot for her, and despite his initial disappointment over her answer he'd never pushed her for more.

_So why?_

_Starling, you know the exact two reasons why. You always have. Don’t bullshit yourself._

Taking a long sip from the bottle, fingers tightening around the neck, she tries not to let her thoughts slip towards a sleek dark head. It's been a constant fixture in her dreams over the years. She catches glimpses of the maroon eyes only on nights when she's most restless, but she knows they watch her from the darkest parts of her dreams. Knows too the other monstrous tableaus that lurk there. Hell, she’d seen one play out only a few hours before.

The agent shivers and instead tries to turn her thoughts to John and the fact that he’s still alive. Maybe calling him would help settle her. Moving for the phone, she has it in her free hand within moments, fingers punching in the familiar number. She hesitates as she gets to the last number. Staring at the phone, she argues with herself silently. 

In the end she presses the button. After all, the man has never been angry to receive a call from her no matter the time. And in a situation like this she can’t see him being bothered by it. _Just five minutes,_ she promises herself. Long enough for her to make sure that he really is okay and push her fears to the side.

She brings the phone to her ear to listen to it ring. The ringing is faintly irritating so to balance it out she takes a sip of her drink. Sadly, the whiskey doesn’t help like she’d hoped and she rolls her eyes. The longer the phone rings, the more her courage deserts her. She’s close to pulling the phone from her to ear to hang up when he finally answers.

“Funny you should call,” he greets her.

That has her blinking and stumbling over the hello she had waiting for him. Swishing the whiskey in her bottle, she watches the liquid as she asks, “And why’s that?”

There’s a quiet chuckle from the other side of the line. “Come open the door. I brought your favourite.”

Shaking her head a little, she turns towards the door separating Mapp’s side of the duplex from her’s. Her side and the private entrance seem a lot further away than she wants them to be. “Umm.” 

“Umm?” John echoes back, laughter growing in his voice. “What’s the matter, Clarice, suddenly unsure of how to open the door?”

“That’s not it.” Holding her phone to her ear with the other shoulder, she starts her way back through the house towards her own realm. It’s not nearly as neat as Mapp’s is, but it’s in working order which is all she cares about. “You’ll have to hold on a few seconds, I was at Ardelia’s.”

“Ah.” The line goes quiet for a few seconds, and Clarice can almost hear the gears in his head turning. “Is she at home?”

She shakes her head a little, forgetting for a moment he can’t see her. When she tells him no a moment later, she’s almost certain she heard a faint sigh of relief. Her mind leaps around, trying to figure out if she wants to follow the meaning of that sigh a little deeper. The same circle she always follows whenever they spend time together. She’s still trying to unravel her thoughts and feelings when she gets to the door and opens it. 

Seeing him in one piece, wearing the same pair of worn down jeans and t-shirt she’d seen him in earlier, relief floods through her washing everything else away. Seeing him, her courage deserts her for a moment. When she had picked up the phone she hadn’t expected to be seeing him in person. It suddenly seems a lot more difficult. But that smile. It’s warm and familiar, and suddenly makes it hard to breath. 

She hangs up her phone and reaches for him. His arms are around her, the bottle of whiskey he’d brought pressing into her lower back. Her own open bottle is carefully maneuvered so that she doesn’t spill a drop. The hug is long and as hard as she dares. She squeezes him gently, trying hard to remember that his chest is covered in bruises. His face is buried in her shoulder, and he sighs into it heavily.

The hug lasts for a few moments before she pulls away with a smile. “Come on, lets go get some blankets from the closet and curl up on the couch.”

The man smiles back, his usual light laughter lines deepening around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. It’s a genuine smile and she knows it. She’s one of few people to ever see it. Something that should have her heart racing in her chest. It wants to, she can feel the beginning of a flutter in her heart beat. But that’s where it ends. 

Hating herself a little in the moment, she turns away from the door and raises her bottle to her lips again. Everything would be so much easier if that flutter turned into more. She knows it could be easy to love him, hell she already does. Knows that the two of them would be happy. Her career would never be an issue, he would always support her. _So why am I being so damn stupid?_ Angry, she takes another long sip of her whiskey.

John must see something in her face, because he’s giving her a look of concern. She waves off the concern and sets the bottle down on the coffee table. “Sorry, just thought of Bolton from this morning.”

There’s a slight nod from the man. She knows he doesn’t believe her. That’s fine, she doesn’t need him to. And quite frankly trying to explain what’s going through her head will only make things worse. It always seemed to in the past whenever she tried to explain it all to Mapp. The woman continues to think she’s crazy. Clarice can’t entirely blame her, some days she thinks it too.

Clarice sets her bottle of whiskey down on one of the coffee tables as they pass through the living room. While she’s tempted to bring it with her to continue her drinking, she knows better when her arms are soon to be full. Moving to the closet, she opens to door and pulls her heavy quilt from the top shelf. It’s the only thing she kept from her childhood, the only memory she’s allowed herself to truly hold onto. But only because it holds small pieces of everyone she wants to remember.

The way her sister’s eyes lit up when Clarice said yes to one more cartoon before bed. Her two brothers snuggling into her side on nights when it was too soon to put the heat on in the house, but too cold to sleep alone. Daddy holding her close, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear, grounding her whenever she woke up from a dream. The soft sound of Mama’s laughter as they try and make shadow puppets on the wall waiting for Daddy to come home. 

Holding it to her face, she closes her eyes and breathes in slowly. Perhaps it is her imagination, perhaps not, but to her a small trace of the smell of home still lingers. Blanket clutched to her chest, the world hidden away for few moments, she can almost convince herself she’s back home, standing on the top of the stairs waiting to hear Daddy come in after his shift. Can almost forget the morning she had.

A shudder runs through her body as she remembers. Fingers clutching the blanket a little tighter, she starts raising her head. She stops when she feels John’s arms wrapping around her. The sudden contact has her jumping slightly, but she’s quickly pressing back into his warmth, hoping she hadn’t scared him away. Thankfully he stays, a steadying presence behind her. 

He rests his forehead against the top of her head, and she feels his sigh stir her hair. Letting go of the blanket with one hand, she drops it to his forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze. She listens to his heartbeat, letting his warmth soak into her and slowly relax her. 

John is the first to move, he presses her closer for a moment before slowly stepping away. Turning towards him, she stares up at him in silence, mouth slightly open as she struggles to find something to say. When something finally does come it’s not what she expected it to be. 

“Daddy, died because he got shot.” 

Her mouth immediately snaps shut, and she raises the blanket to cover her mouth. It’s of course not the only reason, but the man didn’t need to know that. Gaze falling to the floor, she has to fight back a sudden wave of tears and fear. Swallowing heavily, she looks back up at him, suddenly feeling small and exposed. 

“I’ve been, um,” she bites the inside of her lip, searching for the right words. “I think that has a lot to do with why I didn’t say yes to you that night. I was scared of losing someone like that again. Watching him in the hospital-”

Voice breaking, she stops to breath in. She can feel the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes, and she hates herself for it a little. Shaking her head a little, she pushes that image of her father from her mind. Right now she needed to focus on John, dwelling on her father wouldn’t help her with that. 

“I couldn’t see you like that, John. I think it would have destroyed me. And I thought it would have been easier if I said no, and never let you be anything more than a good friend.”

His eyes are locked on hers, and for a moment there’s an intensity that reminds her of only one other person. Breath catching in throat, she feels her heart stutter in her chest. Clarice wants nothing more than to reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. Instead, she clutches her quilt closer to her chest and draw strength from it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “You deserved better.”

The man gives her a small smile, reaching out for her with one. Gently, he curls his fingers around her arm and draws him to her. Letting go of her arm, he lifts his hand to brush some hair from her face. “Oh, Clarice, baby, you have nothing to be sorry for. We can’t control how we feel.” 

His voice is gentle and reassuring. Closing her eyes, she leans into his touch when his fingers brush over her cheek. A few tears manage to slip out the corners of her eyes, but he’s quick to brush them away for her. His finger curls around her chin, lifting her face slightly. It takes her a moment to open her eyes, and when she does he smiles gently.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go sit on the couch.”

When she nods, he drops his hand from her chin and reaches to twine his fingers through hers. Leading her back to the living room, he gently nudges her towards the couch. He promises to be back in a few moments before disappearing into the kitchen. While he’s gone she climbs onto the couch and begins spreading out the quilt. Her fingers trace over a few of the familiar patches and hurriedly fixed rips. 

When John returns she’s curled against a couch arm, head on her arm. She smiles when she sees him carrying the bottle of whiskey she’d kept in the freezer. Of course he’d known she’d have one. He sets the bottle on the coffee table before dropping onto the opposite side of the couch. Clarice watches him get comfortable, and only moves towards him when he looks over at her.

She tries to be careful about where she tries to find a spot, going for his side so she can curl into a ball against him. John, on the other hand, has other ideas and instead pulls her towards his chest. Her hands press into the couch on either side of him, keeping her weight off of him. She doesn’t want to hurt him, and she’s convinced laying on him will do so.

“Clarice?”

Looking up, she gives him a small frown. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

Her eyes roll slightly, and she has to hold back a huff of annoyance. She only just manages to. “John, I saw your chest. Don’t bullshit me.”

“Clarice, baby, it’s okay. I promise, you’re not going to hurt me.” Taking a deep breath, he places his hands on her hips and rubs gentle circles into them. “How about I make a deal with you?”

She eyes him for a moment before gesturing with her head for him to continue. He smiles a little and his one thumb rubs a little higher along her side. “Come here, and when it hurts I promise I will tell you.”

They watch each other for a few moments. The heat radiating from him finally has her convinced, and she begins to rest against his chest. It takes her some time, she does it carefully, gauging his reaction in case something hurts. When she’s finally settled, she has her head under his chin and his arm draped over her back.

Closing her eyes, sighs quietly. Reaching for the man’s free hand, she threads their fingers together. His hand is warm and calloused beneath hers. His thumb traces a random, gentle pattern along the back of her hand. 

“Will I scare you if I tell you I’ve wanted this for a while?” John’s voice reverberates through her, sending a little wave of pleasure down her spine.

She shakes her head slightly and squeezes his hand gently. “No, because I have too. I’ve just been too scared to admit to it.” For a moment she thinks she hears the faint mocking laughter of her dreams. She has to push aside the thought of maroon eyes. This time it’s easier because she can call upon the same look but with blue.

Maybe one day she can forget those hungry, curious looks and replace them with gentle smiles and quiet support. After all, there’d be the one heart stutter, there could be more. 

Head tilting back, she opens her eyes to look up at him. She studies his face for the few seconds he keeps his head where it was before she moved. When his eyes meet hers, she gives him a smile. Letting go of his hand, she cups his face and gently guides his lips to hers. 

The kiss is gentle and brief, but she tries to put as much of a promise into it. She must have done a better job than she thought, because when she pulls way he’s smiling at her. Clarice smile back before snuggling back into his chest, head pressed under his chin once more. His fingers run through her hair, and her eyes close.


End file.
